The Curious Incident of the Sunday Morning
by Summerwing
Summary: A quick ficlet basically just crazy humor. Duo and Heero have a Sunday Morning competition. No slash, just PG13 for language and crude humor.


Disclaimer: I do not own Gundam Wing. I don't really want to anymore, anyway. Imagine how many people I'd have to sue for pretending to own it... Anyway, I don't own Marylin Manson either, and really have no wish to whatsoever. I don't own Aerosmith, though Steven Tyler is really cool. I am very glad that I don't own Celine Dion. I don't own Christine Aguilera, or else she'd wear more clothes. I don't own Jet, either. All of these things are used without permission, and if you sue me, all you'll get is my meager babysitting money. I do own, however, Mrs. Gladys McCarthy, who is my quintessential old lady-person. 

Author's Note: Well, here I am again, and I don't really know why. I thought I was done with Gundam Wing, but apparantly, it wasn't done with me... Well, you all know plot bunnies. When they attack... there isn't much you can do except humor them.

And, yes, it's retarded.

Yes, it's cliche.

Yes, it's unimaginative and unoriginal.

But, please, for the love of gouda, bear with me!

This is actually a true story. Well, it's embellished a bit (just a bit!), but it is based upon my friend Claire and her brother David. Every Sunday, they have a competition of sorts -- who can annoy, embarass and get the other into trouble the most --- and who's best at stopping the other person. Eventually, one will admit defeat. All things depicted in this fic have actually happened at one point or another, if not on the same Sunday. And again, this was written for my amusement and my amusement only, and posted because I felt like it and thought that a funny little snippet like this might brighten someone's day. Spelling errors and grammar mess-ups should please be excused, and I really hope no one flames me, as I haven't ever got one and don't want to break my clean record. :) On that note, let the story begin.

It was a Sunday. Again.

The sun rose, as always.

The birds chirped.

The grass grew.

An alarm clock blared Marilyn Manson.

Heero smiled as he sipped his coffee.

A strangled cry could be heard over "Beautiful People" as Duo threw the alarm clock against the wall.

The smirk only widened on Heero's face as he took a bite of toast and watched Duo, cursing him, Marilyn, and humanity, stomp to the bathroom. Heero had learned some interesting swearwords from Duo over the years, yet was still impressed at the sheer range he could conjure up on cue -- at six in the morning, no less.

The bathroom door was slammed violently and the whole house shook. Shaking his head, Heero took another mouthful of toast and waited for Duo to figure out he was out of shampoo.

He didn't have long to wait. Before two minutes had passed, the water was running, and before three were gone, Duo was screaming like your mother would be if she caught you giving the guy next door a blow job.

"Heeero!" It really should have been on the top of Heero's list to check if Relena had any more long-lost brothers. "Where's my fucking shampoo?!"

"It's in the garage. Where you left it after buying it." Heero snickered. "And, before you ask, no, I'm not getting it for you."

"Grrrrrrghh! You'll pay for this, Yuy!" screamed Duo, red in the face, dripping wet and clad only in a towel as he careened out the bathroom door, sprinted down the hallway, and dashed through the door to the garage, hair streaming out behind him.

"Duo, I should probably mention the fact that the garage door's --" Heero was interrupted by a piercing scream from 96-year-old Mrs. McCarthy across the street. "Open," he finished quietly, as Duo stormed back in, wearing not only the towel, but a glare fit to rival Heero's, and a redder face than before, if that was possible. He was clutching the bottle of apple-scented shampoo to his chest, and tapping his foot, sprinkling little drops of water onto the middle of the tiled kitchen floor.

"Why. Didn't. You. Tell. Me. Sooner," he barked. It was not a question so much as a round of verbal bullets.

"I tried. It's not my fault you don't wait around to hear explanations. And, by the way, after you eat breakfast, you should go apologise to Gladys," Heero said with a chuckle.

"Not your fault! Of course it was -- wait, Gladys?" questioned Duo, snapped out of his ranting by the unfamiliar name. "You know Mrs. McCarthy's name?" he asked skeptically.

"You would too if you spent all week at home. Now finish your shower, I don't want to have to clean up more water than I need to," Heero said smugly.

Duo sputtered for a few moments before spinning on his heel and hissing. "Fine. But you are so in for it."

"Coming from you," Heero called at Duo's back, "I don't know if I should be frightened or amused."

Duo growled menacingly, and Heero decided not to push his luck.

The shower started running again.

All of a sudden, someone started strangling a cat, whilst simultaneously riding a lawnmower over gravel and using a chainsaw to cut a steel girder. Or, at least, that's what it sounded like. To the careful observer familiar with Duo's species, whatever it was, it may have sounded something like this:

"Love in an elevator, something, something, as I'm going down..."

Heero made an attempt at blocking his ears, but it was no use. Earplugs might have worked better than fingers, but the ones he kept buying specifically to deal with Duo kept "mysteriously disappearing" before he could make use of them.

Heero struggled to the bathroom door despite the "singing" that was practically making his ears bleed, not to mention the dogs howling, cats yowling, and car alarms going off all over the neighborhood.

"Duo!" he screamed over the deafening noise. "Stop singing!"

"No!" drifted Duo's voice through the door. There was a brief respite as Duo quieted for a moment, conceivably pouting. Then, it began anew. Duo had ceased to mangle Aerosmith, and moved on to Celine Dion.

"My heart will go ooooon and oooooooon..." he warbled.

Heero pounded on the door, loosening its hinges from the force of the blow. "Duo!" he bellowed. "You sing so badly I'm considering not shooting you."

This confused Duo enough to make him pause in his howling. He didn't know whether to be pissed off or not. He settled on a definite "yes" when Heero finished his thought a moment later. "I'm going to shoot _myself_ instead!"

Duo recommenced singing and Heero shivered involuntarily. The Japanese man thought. He immediately deduced that Duo was not going to shut up unless Heero tricked him, bribed him a large sum of money or something worth it, or threatened him directly -- whilst in a position to carry out that threat (i.e., not behind a locked bathroom door). Since he didn't feel like coming up with a clever enough plan to trick Duo, and was also lacking a large sum of money, Heero decided on the third option. He procured a screwdriver, and finished loosening the door's hinges enough to allow him to take that side from the frame off and get into the bathroom. He unlocked the lock, and it shuddered to the floor.

Without the distraction of his task to divert him, Heero suddenly realized that the singing was now at full blast, and it nearly overpowered him. He recoiled at first, but pushed bravely onward.

Standing next to the shower, Heero pleaded with Duo once again. "Duo! Shut up, or I'll kill you!"

"No," replied Duo, quite simply, and returned to belting out "Dirrty."

Heero sighed in defeat, but then something on the shelf above the sink caught his eye.

"All right, Duo, you win," he said dejectedly, yet looking anything but with the hairdryer clutched in his fist, a manic light in his eyes and grin on his face.

"I knew you'd see it my way," replied Duo, smirking smugly and then continuting "Dirrty."

"Of course," said Heero, beginning innocently enough. "Oh, and Duo? Would it be all right if... I don't know, I just... plugged the blowdryer in and... say.. threw it in there with you?"

Duo immediately halted in his rendition of "Are You Gonna Be My Girl?" and turned off the water.

"I was done anyway," he said, disappointed. "Just trying to win again."

"Don't be sad. You've won the last 23 Sundays. It was my turn," Heero comforted, although not able to keep the note of triumph out of his voice.

"Still..." said Duo. " I never thought you'd actually break the door down. You must've been desperate to beat me," he finished, puffing out his chest a little.

"Don't flatter yourself. I just undid the hinges," explained Heero. "Nothing's broken," he assured, scrutinizing his handiwork.

Duo, clutching his towel around his waist again, joined him. "Thorough, aren't we?"

"Yes. Anything to win a Sunday."

"Don't get complacent. Next week, you're going down."

"You wish."

"No, really, you are."

"Sure, Duo, I'll let you think that. Your losing streak has begun."

"I'll show you!"

"What -- how to lose?"

Duo howled in rage as Heero chuckled, both vowing that next time, he would win the day.

The End...

I hope...

Anyway, it'd be nice to get some reviews, because the last story I put up (a repost of something with about 30 reviews) got nothing. Not even a flame. Even if you just drop in your name and say hi... I'd be greatly obliged. Thanks, luvs.

Until next time, over and out.

Summerwing 5:17 PM 9/17/2004


End file.
